


Half in Anguish, Half in Hope

by kiraeth



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (2016)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Gore, Regency, Suicide, Violence, Weapons, Zombies, details of death, details of injury, this does not have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:20:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiraeth/pseuds/kiraeth
Summary: “All I could want in my last moments is happiness, and this you have truly bestowed upon me.”





	Half in Anguish, Half in Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in a long time, and when I wrote this, it was very earlier in the morning, and when I edited it? Even earlier, so if there are errors, please bear with me, I will be fixing them. 
> 
> I'm also very nervous to be posting this, and I promise my work in the future will be a lot happier. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Graphic character deaths, and Suicide.

“You may now kiss, Mr Darcy—The brides. You may now kiss the brides.” Cheers rang through the church as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy turned to their brides, a grin crossing the face of both, a rather rare occurrence for one more than the other undoubtedly. The two Miss Bennet, now Mrs. Bingley and Mrs. Darcy, shared in an equal sized grin as the two men entrapped the cheeks of their beloveds and shared in a kiss. 

Elizabeth leaned up on her tip toes to meet his kiss, her hands pressing against his cheeks as they enjoyed their first moments as husband and wife. Pulling away, they gazed at each for a long moment, before turning to the crowd of faces that were loudly hollering and tossing flower pedals at the union. In sync, Fitzwilliam and the newest Darcy Lady wound their arm around each other’s, Elizabeth smiling from ear to ear as they began to walk themselves towards the crowd. 

Mrs. Bennet cried out as she was able to run up to her daughters, tears streaming down her face as she could hardly form words, “Eliza! Darling Eliza! And my beloved Jane, oh—oh—oh, how happy!” Both Bennett daughters smiled happily at their mother, however Mr. Bennett intervened, taking the hand of his wife and giving her a gentle tug in the opposite direction. 

“Please, Dear, I won’t have you looking to embarrass the eldest of our daughters—Lest let it be on their wedding day.” Mrs. Bennet put up no restraint as her husband removed her from the aisle, allowing the daughters to move passed. 

“If only mother could naturally be so controlled. I think she’d be more tolerable to be around for more than a mere moment.” Elizabeth managed a whisper to her most beloved sister, before her attentions were returned to her husband who had brought her back to the present by snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her near. 

The loudness of the crowd did not cease, not even for a moment. Surely this madness will calm, Elizabeth thought to herself as she glanced back, however the moment her eyes met with the crowd, her face dropped. They were silent. 

Twisting back around with a short gasp, she immediately felt the arm around her tighten as the sound began to draw closer, her eyes finally surveying the hoard upon hoard of undead that were forthcoming in their invasion of the happy couple’s day. 

Elizabeth twisted in her husband’s hold to look up at him, her face holding a painful expression, “I do believe my wedding dress is about to get dirty. I thought perhaps one day our daughter would wear it.” Mr. Darcy let out a short breath of laughter, before leaning forward and pressing his wife tightly against his chest as his lips found her own. His lips were warm and hungry; however, the kiss was stopped all too abruptly as both pairs made way for their weapons. 

Raising her gown to above her thigh, Elizabeth was able to retrieve her blade, just as her sister did alongside her. She knew she would need something stronger, seeing as an army was heading towards them, but the blade would do for now. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley both had their muskets cocked, blades resting in their opposite hands and ready for the kill, all eyes trained forefront. 

“Wickham is leading them, Darcy.” Bingley stated loudly, almost in a yell, an obvious nervousness tingeing his words. 

“So he is.” Elizabeth glanced up at him once more, before her eyes looked towards her sister and her brother-in-law, then forwards once more. 

“Now let’s put an end to it, shall we?” Both men looked towards Mrs. Darcy, and Jane grinned. 

With a cry, Elizabeth led them into battle, her blade piercing through the ribs of the first zombie they encountered, giving a sharp shove and forcing the blade upwards to rip through the chest and neck of the carcass, before taking her weapon back and giving a stern kick to the lower abdomen, forcing the thing to the ground. With a quick, hard stomp of her heel to its head, it would surely not rise again. She was not wrong earlier, her wedding dress was now very dirty. 

Turning on her heels she watched as Mr. Darcy’s musket pressed against the temple of one, his finger pressing taunt against the trigger and sending a loud Bang! Into the air as the zombie fell to the ground. He took extra precaution to stomp on the skull, reloading a bullet into her musket before turning to his wife, “Lizzy!” He yelled out as he raised his firearm to point at her, causing her to duck down to the ground as another shot was rung off and raced passed over her head, hitting another undead directly between the eyes. 

Elizabeth whipped around to look at the ‘thing’ that had been shot, narrowly avoiding having the zombie fall atop of her as she quickly fell back, only to have her husband wrap his arms around her and thrust her back sharply, “Oh, Mrs. Darcy—” He started, for a moment only focusing on her, “Will you ever find your footing?” 

“What would be the point in that be, seeing as you’ll always be there to catch me, Mr. Darcy?” She quipped back, leaning up to brush her lips against his, however they were hardly in a safe enough place to continue such antics, “How long do you suppose this will take? Although I enjoy a good fight, I never imagined this would be how I would spend my wedding night.” 

Another shot went off from Mr. Darcy’s musket, as Elizabeth’s blade slashed through the neck of another zombie, her eyes wandering quickly from the kill to try and spot her sister. Her sister had retreated with her beloved it seemed; more than likely in the hopes of finding better weapons. Her sister was never one to run from a fight. 

Her mind was taken for a moment as she hoped her sister was alright, and not somewhere being eaten alive. The thought made her feel faint for a moment, but she was brought out of her dizzy state by the voice of her husband, “Elizabeth! Run!” 

She turned her head, to see where the danger was, but by doing so, precious moments were wasted. A zombie, merely inches away, stared her blank in the face. Drawing her blade up, it was too late. 

Lunging for her, the zombie pushed Elizabeth to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Lizzy cried out, trying in vain to force the zombie off, but its mouth was on her. She screamed, her face contorting in a terrible way, hot tears forcing their way down her cheeks as an unimaginable pain ripped through her. She screamed again. A loud bang went off, and the zombie fell limp against her. 

Was she awake? Was she unconscious? William was yelling, his hand pressed against her cheek as he called her name. She couldn’t see, her vision was blurred. The zombie was gone, but her shoulder continued to scream in pain. She had been bit. 

The next thing she knew, Darcy had lifted her up and hoisted her up and over his shoulder as he forced his way through the hoard to get back to safety. Elizabeth felt like she was floating. A copper taste was overtaking her mouth, and she coughed, trying to rid herself of the taste but no matter her efforts, they weren’t enough. She held onto her beloved, scared and unknowing. 

She had been bit. She knew she had been bit. 

Minutes had passed—Or perhaps an hour. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know who she was. All she knew was how much pain she was in. And then the movements stopped. Heaving her forward, Mr. Darcy lay his wife to the ground, a door closing loudly behind them. Turning her head to the side, she coughed, a thick spew of blood coming from her and hitting the ground. 

“Lizzy—Oh God, Elizabeth.” She turned her attention back up at the man before her, tears streaming down his red face. She had never seen Darcy cry before. It made her want to cry. She always thought the first time she’d see him cry was when their first child was born. “Elizabeth, oh my sweet beautiful Elizabeth, Oh God.” He leaned forward and pressed his hands to her cheeks, his forehead against her own, “I am sorry, I am so sorry.” He leaned back after a long moment, and she was able to see Mr. Bingley beside him, hand pressed around his friends’ shoulder and tears dripping along his face. 

“Liz, I am sorry—Please forgive me.” Jane was there, sitting on her other side, her hands cupping her own. Janey didn’t look at her, her eyes trained on their hands. 

“I… I don’t… I don’t understand…” Mr. Darcy cried out at her words, his teeth tightly clenching after as he fought to control himself, for her sake. He understood. Bingley understood. Jane understood. Going from delirious to frightful, Elizabeth pulled her hand away from Jane to press against the wound on her neck. Her breathing got heavy as she felt the blood and tissue. She had been bit. Realization finally took hold of her. She had been bit. She was going to become undead. She was about to… die. 

“I…” She gasped for words, suddenly feeling unable to breath as her heart beat all to quickly in the confines of her chest, “I don’t want to die.” Tears were streaming down her face as she stared up at her husband, “I don’t want it to end like this… I…” She didn’t know what else to say. She knew what was about to happen. 

Sobs were the only sounds, echoing throughout the room. As minutes wore on, Elizabeth slowly came back to herself, the pain setting in and the realization hitting her like a train. They were not safe. She calmed, although her heart continued to beat at a pace unknown to her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached her hand up to touch her beloved husbands’ cheek, her eyes meeting his own, once gleaming and confident now left red and swollen. He sniffled, pressing her hand to her own, his breathes getting caught every few seconds, 

“My beloved Husband…” She swallowed hard, forcing tears back, “You are not safe.”

“My beloved wife, we are as safe as one can be in this world.” He responded; his voice quiet. The confident was gone, he sounded like a scared child. It made her more fearful knowing, that for once, he was afraid. 

“Fitzwilliam… I am very sorry, but you know as well as I, that it is not the outside world I am speaking about.” He stopped breathing a moment, realization dawning upon him. He was not safe with her. She was implying that she herself was dangerous; the most kindhearted and gentle woman he had ever had the fortune to know, let alone marry. She was dangerous.

“Lizzy, my most ardent, tender wife… I…” Words were failing him. 

“Lizzy, my sister… my sweet, sweet sister…” Jane cried out, her husband removing himself from Darcy’s side to wrap his arms around his wife, offering whatever bit of comfort he could muster in a time where comfort would not live. 

“Fitzwilliam Darcy, I need you to be safe… and you are not. Nor is my most beloved sister and brother…” No, no…

“Elizabeth Darcy, I beg you… please…” He didn’t know what he was begging for. For anything. For her to not go. His eyes closed as tears overwhelmed them, forcing their way through to continue their rampage.

It was their wedding night. They had the rest of their lives. This was a terrible, terrible nightmare and he would wake up in mere seconds to find his wife asleep beside him. He would wake her up with gentle kisses and a warm embrace, whispering how much he loved her and how they would spend eternity together. Pressing his eyes together tightly before opening them, he hoped, but it was in vain. 

His wife was dying in front of him. 

He leaned over her, brushing her lips against her own. Her breathing was shallow, and she was as cold as ice. Her eyes were heavy, and he knew… he knew her time was coming to an end. Pressing his lips tightly against her own, he felt the firmness of the firearm next to him. She met his kisses, weakly, her hand still resting gently against his cheek. Slowly, they pulled away, both letting out a breath before Elizabeth could speak: “All I could want in my last moments is happiness, and this you have truly bestowed upon me.” 

“My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth Darcy… The love of my life… We will meet again. And until then, you will be the only thing on my mind.”. He could not believe this. He refused to believe this wasn’t just a terrible nightmare. For a moment, he had had it all. “Good night.”

“Till we meet again, Mr. Darcy.”

**Bang!**

Screams and sobs rang from the deceases Sister, “Darcy!” The door was kicked open, Mr. Darcy stepping back out into the cold air, the breeze stinging his raw face, “Darcy!” Bingley cried out from the room, taking only a moment to step away from his grieving wife, who was wrapped around the body of her deceased sister, hollering and sobbing, to go after his friend, “Darcy, I know you are in pain—I don’t even know if pain is the considerable word, but you cannot do something rash. We must take her back home and have a burial.” 

Mr. Darcy turned around a moment, his pain fading into rage, “There will be time for that. But first, I must ensure the long and painful death of a Mr. George Wickham.” He spat the man’s name, his face in a snarl as anger consumed him; Anger of which Bingley had never witnessed before, “This is his doing.” 

“Fitz, I know—” 

“She is dead because of him!” He roared, “And you except me to accept it and live my life? Just bury my wife and let him continue his rampage. He considers himself a God, but I will prove that it isn’t so because there is not a force on earth that could ever stop me from ripping out his throat!” He was screaming, Bingley watching on in almost fear and working to decide his next words, carefully. He wanted revenge, he did, but he could not lose his friend, too. 

“What would Elizabeth want? She would want you safe.” He knew instantly that he had chosen wrong. 

“And if that was Jane in there? What would you do, Charles? You would peacefully go home and bury her, and just continue on as if it were her time? Despite fully knowing that the man who put her in her grave years and years too early is out there, orchestrating the same act upon thousands? Is that it, Charles?” 

Bingley closed the space between them both, staring his friend hard in the eyes, shaking his head every slightly. Finally, a sigh slipped out, “Fitz…” Darcy waited to hear his counter, but it never came. Instead a hand came upon his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, “Good luck.”

That was all he needed. He turned quickly and headed off, seeking the nearest horse and starting on his way. It seemed the hoard had cleared, but perhaps that was because Wickham knew Elizabeth was dead. He more than likely wanted Darcy to live to deal with the insufferable pain that was clawing its way through him. 

His tears had stopped, his blood going hot as he thought of driving a sword through the bastard’s skull. He would pay. He would not live to see another damned day. He would not hurt another soul. 

He knew he would be in the nearest church. Lazarus was gone, so he would need to find somewhere else to continue this religion he spoke of. He would need a place he could feel as if he were a God. The church wasn’t a terrible distance away, but to Darcy’s surprise, there weren’t any undead lurking anywhere. Wickham knew he was coming. 

He didn’t care to hide, or to sneak around. He knew what needed to be done, and he was the reaper. Turning the handle carefully, the door opened with ease, although it creaked loudly enough to alert someone—or something—nearby of his presence. The church had been abandoned, for sure. It was old, and falling apart, not maintained enough for the living to be kept around it, however it seemed ideal for the dead. Creepy and disgusting. 

Darcy’s gaze wandered as he took in the alter. The only light sourced was that of a few dimly lit candles that lined the aisle, red stained glass marking the window. Words drawn in blood littered the walls where glass was not kept, _donum a Deo._ He examined the words closely before drawing his attention back to the alter.

Walking slowly, One hand held onto his musket tightly, the other rested on his sheathed sword. The only sound that echoed around was that of his own footsteps meeting with the creaky ground, but he didn’t care. He would kill every last one of them if it came down to it. 

“Mr. Darcy, my condolences…” His eyes shot to the left of him, carefully eyeing the shadowed figure that was now lurking in a doorway he hadn’t noticed, “I didn’t suspect you to become a widow so soon. I thought you were a warrior.” He let out a roaring laugh as he mocked the heartbroken man, before he finally came out into the candlelight enough for Darcy to see him. He had decayed a lot more than when he had saw him last, nearly his whole face eaten up except for his left eye. He adorned the same attire but it was much more bloodied and torn than last time, but the man—the thing—wore is seemingly proudly still. 

“You killed my wife.” Mr. Darcy spat, his hand tightening it’s grip on his sword, pulling it out in the slightest, to ready himself for the kill.

“Actually, you did. You can’t keep blaming me for all the problems in your life, Fitz, it’s starting to get a bit old, don’t you think?” Darcy stalked towards him, removing his sword completely while his other hand held his musket up higher to aim at the undead man before him, “You can blame me all you’d like, but in the end, it will always be you that pulled the trigger. Just like you who dawned the sword that ended your old man.” BANG! … click! Click! He knew the musket had only one shot, but damnable, he wished he could fire hundreds of shots at the bastard. 

Fitzwilliam lunged towards him; however, the bullet hadn’t even seemed to faze the undead Wickham. Thrusting his sword at the man, Wickham was just as quick to retrieve his own and dodge the oncoming attack, the weapons meeting in the middle of them with a sharp, echoing noise. Mr. Darcy took the opportunity to steal a swift kick at Wickham’s abdomen and force him backwards, his back making solid contact with the wall behind him. He grunted but regained his balance and swung his sword at Darcy once more, the men engaging in the duel, back and forth until Mr. Darcy lost his footing and slipped, falling to his knee clumsily, giving Wickham the upper hand. He slashed at the downed man, cutting open the shoulder of his wedding attire and drawing blood from the flesh below it, “You will make an excellent treat for the undead. Perhaps I’ll let them feast upon you before setting them on your family. I’m sure darling Georgianna will be the sweetest meat.” 

Darcy growled and flew at the man, using all the strength he could muster to shove the man back against the wall like earlier, this time using his sword to pierce between his ribcage like he had watched his wife do earlier. For a moment, he felt sick, but he could not let himself get distracted. 

Wickham made a pained noise as he was stabbed, but he punched Darcy directly in the nose to weaken his hold on him, and as he staggered back, he kicked his legs out from under him, watching him fall to the ground, helpless. 

Darcy flailed, reaching for his sword and sneaking it up in his grasp before thrusting the tip up at the other man. Wickham grabbed the sword, easily and without a care, the blade slicing into his skin easily, but he paid no mind to it. He tore the sword for Darcy’s grasp, blood spewing from the new wound he had created on his hand, and flung it into air, catching it by the hilt and just as simply resting the tip to Darcy’s neck, as if he had done it a million times before. “What a pathetic bride and groom… Not even a day into your marriage and you both have already made it to till death do you part. Unfortunate.” 

Wickham’s nose scrunched up as his jaw tightened, drawing the sword back to make the killing blow, letting out a roar as the sword came down, however just as the sword reached Williams chest, the other man mustered all his strength and kicked out his leg, his foot meeting with the other man’s calf, a loud crack filling the church. Both men cried out, and the sword fell to the ground just as Wickham did, Mr. Darcy’s hand closing over the laceration on his upper chest, trying to contain the blood, as Mr. Wickham’s attention was turned to his calf, the bone showing through the undead flesh of his leg. 

It took a moment for both parties to realize what a compromising position they were in, when both sets of eyes fell on the sword, a few feet away from either of them. They looked at each other, before Darcy threw out another kick, landing directly in the face of Wickham before he made a move for it. Reaching out, it was right there, but Wickham was fast, and his hands closed around Darcy’s ankle to pull him back. 

Fitzwilliam glanced back and offered a few more kicks, trying to get the man off of him as he reached for the sword. It was right there. He was screaming as he reached, his fingertips dancing along the hilt. It was right there. Right there. Then all of sudden, so was Elizabeth. 

His breath caught in his throat as she stared up at his wife, who was standing before him. She wore the outfit she had worn when had saved him from Lazarus, her long blue coat sweeping against floor as she moved to kneel beside him, her eyes never leaving his, and his never left hers. “Mr. Darcy…” She spoke, in her confident tone of voice, moving to brush a stray piece of hair from her husband’s face. Smiling, she stated: “It’s time to kill this bastard.” He blinked and was gone; however his long-gone confidence came back in a wave. He could never let her down.

Looking back down at the man, rage taking over him, he lifted his free foot and forced it down upon the undead Wickham’s face once more, hearing another large crack fill the room and a gush of blood slop around his shoe. His sole continually met with his face, easily breaking the facial structure due to the undead flesh and how easily it gave out. And then again, and then again until finally, he was released. 

Scraping to his knees, he swung up the sword and whipped around to see the blood soaked Wickham laying helplessly on the ground, trying to muster the strength to get up, but Mr. Darcy gave another kick, gently this time, to force the other man onto his back, keeping his foot pressed against his chest to stop him from moving, “You know, Fitz…” Wickham spoke, gurgling blood as he spoke, only his zombie open due to the lack of flesh to cover it, the rest of his face a twisted up bundle of flesh and broken bone, “I always knew it would come to this. Either I would kill you, or you would kill me… I dreamt about killing you, every night…”

“Is this a wise conversation to be having with the man who has a sword, while you do not?” Darcy spat, “You did this to yourself. You lost because you are a coward, and I will not let you hurt anyone else.”

Wickham tilted his head as he licked at his lips, swallowing blood and facial tissue in the process, “Lost? I have not lost. I simply have not yet won.”

Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes, sword pressing against the weaker man’s necks, “How will you win?” 

“I will simply do what I did to your wife… Have someone else do the dirty work for me…” Darcy didn’t have a moment to understand what the hell he was talking about, when the most heinous sound came from him. It was a high-pitched screech, and nothing a human could replicate. The floor shook as the sound erupted from him, the windows shattering seconds later as the whole building began to feel as if an earthquake was erupting below them. 

Looking to the man below him, Darcy muttered: “If only you were a God. Perhaps then a mortal weapon wouldn’t end your string of sin.” Darcy raised the sword above his head and with a swift, hard swipe, Mr. George Wickham, was no more. His head rolled to the side, bouncing along the ground of the church until it stopped at Mr. Darcy feet, Mr. Wickham’s eyes looking up at him, but Mr. Darcy didn’t even take a second to examine, his foot meeting with the zombies head and sending it flying against the wall nearest the door of the church. 

It rolled once more, this time stopping by the feet of several zombies, who were looking on at Mr. Darcy with hunger. It took Mr. Darcy only a mere moment to head for the nearest window, taking the quickest of moments to push some candles to the ground with a loud growl and setting the old building ablaze. 

Since the windows had shattered earlier, it was easy for Mr. Darcy to slip through and head for the front where his horse was (hopefully) located. He pushed through a few zombies, and mounted the horse, luckily avoiding the quicker of the undead. Cracking the reigns, horse and rider began their journey back to safety.

The ride back felt like a lifetime. Mostly because he was alone with his thoughts. 

He had had everything, and now he had nothing. He thought tears would threaten him again, but they didn’t come. He breathed hard as the wind prickled at his skin, the cold sinking into his bones. He imagined Elizabeth behind him, her arms wrapped longingly around his torso as they rode back to their home, after killing Mr. Wickham and ending his reign of terror. She would press a kiss to the back of his neck, and whisper her affection to him, but all he could do was shaking his head. She was not there, and she never would be again.

“Fitz!” Bingley called out, making his way quickly over to the horse and his rider, “Fitz, how… how did… it go? How are you? Are you still in health?” Mr. Darcy dismounted, giving the horse a gentle pat before turning to his friend, a blank expression taking over his face. 

“I have not been bitten, if that’s what you’re asking.” He told him, scrunching his nose, as if it seemed the most unusual question his friend could ask. “Wickham is dead and will not be making a surprise return.” Bingley seemed unsure if he should be happy or not. He didn’t know what Darcy needed at this moment in time. Mr. Darcy glanced towards the little cottage, pressing his lips tightly together before meeting Charles gaze once more, “Is she…”

“We haven’t moved her just yet. We didn’t want to without your permission, as her husband.” He nodded, looking back, “I’m afraid Jane wouldn’t let go of her, anyway.” He nodded once more, before taking a deep breath. Finally, with plenty of hesitation, he walked towards where he knew his deceased wife would be laying.

Opening the door, his eyes fell on Jane, who was sobbing and begging her sister to not leave her. The sight made his stomach churn, and tears stung his eyes once more. Walking over, slowly, he stopped next to his sister-in-law and crouched down, placing his hand on her back, “Jane, we are going to bring her to the house now…” The woman looked up at him, her face completely red and her eyes bloodshot. He had never seen her in such a state, her normal composed demeanour wiped away.

“Oh, Mr. Darcy…” Unexpectedly, she threw herself into his arms, her arms wrapping around him as she cried into his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. For once in his life, he truly was uncertain of his feelings on the situation. 

Wrapping his arms around her, he helped Mrs. Bingley to her feet as her husband walked over and took her into his own arms, to help her outside, stealing a glance back at William for a brief moment, “I will get her back to the house, and I will come back…” Darcy nodded, not looking up as his eyes focused on his wife on the ground. A second later, the door closed with a loud thud.

He took a seat beside her, taking her cold hand in his own. He shivered at the sensation, his eyes closing. He prayed, half in hope and half in anguish, that this was still a dream. But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he knew it simply was not true. 

His head lulled to the side before his eyes opened and were immediately met with the sight of a musket that belonged to Charles. His brow furrowed a moment, then relaxed. He brought his wife’s cold hand to his lips and pressed a gently kiss to her knuckles, and then atop her ring. It took a long time before Fitzwilliam Darcy leaned over and retrieved the musket, examining it carefully. 

He turned his attention to his wife–– her pale, lifeless face. It was odd how death could alter your appearance so. At least she was still intact, not enough time had passed in her livelihood to turn her into one of those things. She was still Elizabeth. 

He shuffled to lean over her and examine her face closer, tears making their way down along his face once more as he waited for her eyes to open. They didn’t. They wouldn’t. 

Mr. Darcy sighed as he leaned in closer, and closer until he was able to brush his lips against her own, savouring the moment. The last moment he would ever be so close to her, even if she was no longer… here. 

He moved back and rested his back against the wall, pulling her up into his arms so she was cradled close, blood coating both persons but at this point, there wasn’t a soul who cared. He held her in his arms, tightly, his lips pressed against her forehead as he began to speak: “My dearest, loveliest wife… I was very right. I thought about you every moment until my last one, and we will meet again. Very soon.” The cold ring of metal pressed against his temple, and with a deep breath and a short, “I love you.” 

One more bang rang off.


End file.
